Wednesdays
by sisypheandreamer
Summary: COFFEE SHOP AU. She only came around every Wednesday at half past 1 in the afternoon. Sometimes, she ordered tea. Sometimes, she ordered a very complicated coffee order that the baristas would always need her to repeat it at least thrice over. And she always, always ordered a drink with a mini soufflé to pair it with. He had started calling her "Soufflé Girl" in his head.
1. Chapter 1

**WEDNESDAYS**

She only came around every Wednesday at half past 1 in the afternoon.

Sometimes, she ordered tea. Sometimes, she ordered a very complicated coffee order that the baristas would always need her to repeat it at least thrice over. And she always, always ordered a drink with a mini soufflé to pair it with. He had started calling her "Soufflé Girl" in his head. She had been frequenting this particular coffee shop every single Wednesday – and only on a Wednesday – for the past four months.

She didn't have a usual spot like he did – the far corner booth for two with a perfect view of the door and the cash register yet still fairly hidden – she just took wherever was available and she would flip open travel books and magazines while she sipped at her drink and ate her coffee. She would stay at varying hours – just reading and looking at pictures and maps. And he would find himself watching her without really meaning to.

He found himself doing a lot of things just by staring at her.

He found himself grinning when she laughed at something she just read. He almost got up to help her that one time she spilled her frappuchino on herself but someone had beat him to it. He found his eyes followed her – all the way out of the coffee shop. He almost followed her – he hated to admit that he wanted to – but even that was going a bit far. Even for him.

He had wanted to talk to her lots of times before but he never bucked up the nerve to do so. What would he say? He had rehearsed it in his head, scripted it even, but how would he even start to say anything without it sounding like he wasn't some kind of creep from another planet? Funny, that observation was – given his name.

Every single Wednesday, he would tell himself that this was it. This was going to be the day that he would say hello and they would have a conversation and he would finally meet her. He wasn't scared of doing it, honestly. He was just a bit… rattled on how to actually go about it. He would spend hours trying to figure out how he would say hello or why he would even say hello. Time would pass and she would leave and he would have missed her. Again. And again. And again. And again.

After around two months of missing the moment, he thought he had missed his chance and it would be a trifle improper to just barge in on her and say he's been noticing her since the first day she went into that coffee shop and he hasn't stopped noticing since.

Things would probably have been easier if Amy had been there with him, like she always used to at that time. They were best mates and she majored in Literature while he was in Art History that time around. Then Rory went off to take his Masters for Nursing in New York after Amy had graduated and he had the whole business of asking Amy to move in with him. Of course, he was happy for them. But he couldn't help but stay in that same coffee shop, at the same hour of the days they used to have, always ordering an extra plate of jammie dodgers, as if his favourite Scottish ginger was going to strut in any second and order him about like she always did.

Amy would have noticed him noticing Soufflé Girl. Amy would have slapped some sense into him – literally, probably – and dragged him to the girl and she would have dragged him screaming. He could even hear her in his head.

"Hello, there!" Amy would say. "This is my friend and he's been kind of checking you out for weeks now but he's too much of a bloody idiot to say anything to you without overthinking everything, so could you do me a favour and talk to him so he can learn how to breathe again?"

Honestly, he would have been grateful to Amelia Pond for it. But she wasn't there with him anymore, not physically anyway. And he was stuck there, watching and waiting. Any second now, she was going to come in.

And at half past one in the afternoon, a girl with a bright red coat with her matching satchel came in. Soufflé Girl entered the coffee shop.

X X X

He was there again.

Clara oughtn't be surprised – he was there all the time. Sometimes, she would pass by the coffee shop on Tuesdays or Fridays and he was always there. From one in the afternoon, 'til who knows when – he would be there. And when he thought she wasn't looking, she could see him. Him and his obsessive love for jammie dodgers and tea (or so it would seem), always wearing braces and a bowtie with his polo shirt folded in to his elbows. Him and his hair that was shaped like a tidal wave in a hurricane that was suspended in time. Him and that big chin and that sneaky smile and how he would laugh boisterously whenever he was reading an old edition of Beano.

She started noticing him on her second month into the shop. It was the nearest coffee shop near her university and it was the only place she could relax and be with her own thoughts. Every other day, she would spend her free time at the Maitlands and take care of the kids. This was her weekday-off.

It was nice to have a constant little shop around so she could be by herself. It was often where she could just flip a magazine and look at all the places she was going to go to after she graduated. Only a few more months and she was free. The Maitlands would get a new nanny and she could be off to see the world.

There were the white sandy shores of Boracay in the Philippines at South East Asia. There was the Angkor Wat in Cambodia. There was the underground river in Palawan. There was backpacking across all fifty states of America. There was going around New Zealand and doing the whole Lord of the Rings pilgrimage. There was learning Swahili in East Africa. There was the Harry Potter theme park.

And a coffee shop, she found, was an ideal place to dream.

She ordered a frappuchino that day – her usual. It was a Crème Vanilla frappuchino with two pumps of raspberry, two pumps of hazelnut, a pump of mocha, a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg, with dark caramel drizzle on top of the whipped cream. And, of course, her regular weekly soufflé - she never could get her mum's soufflé just right and it would always end up burnt out anyway. The shop's soufflé wasn't as good but it was good enough.

The barista rung up her order. She reached into her bag and felt for her wallet. She felt around but couldn't find it.

"Oh, you are kidding me," she murmured. She smiled at the barista for a second, a finger raised. "Just a tick. I know it's in here somewhere."

The barista was not amused. Not that he was entirely unpleasant but she knew the feeling. Clara was starting to panic, looking around for her wallet and even tried to coo at it, as if it were a puppy that would just go to her when she called. She was entirely too invested in looking for her wallet, convinced that she was secretly Mary Poppins or Hermione Granger or a Time Lord or something and that her satchel had become magically bigger on the inside and that she would find it eventually if she dug deep enough, when a stranger bounced in next to her.

No, literally. _Bounced._

"Is there a problem, Canton?" It was the guy. Chin Boy.

"Sorry, am I holding you up?" she said, looking up at him for a moment, and then back to her satchel. "Just trying to find my wallet. I know it's in here somewhere…"

"Well, rather than hold up the line here-" he gestured to the lack of line behind him "- how does me offering to pay for your order sound? I'm famished and I'd like to eat."

Clara straightened her back and gave him a look. Then, she bent over a bit to peek at his table. Chin Boy stepped back to block her view. She even stood on her tiptoes, seeing as he was a good foot taller than she was. But even blocked from view, she could see just a bit of it. Chin Boy still had a good plate of jammie dodgers still at his table.

"Seems to me like you've got enough on you already."

"Seems to me like you haven't."

He was smirking, the nerve of him. All the while, Canton the barista was looking less and less amused as the banter went on. The order was placed in front of them by another barista.

"Are either of you two going to pay or not?" Canton was a bit cross then. "I'm off in five minutes, I've got a date with my boyfriend, and if neither of you are paying for this in ten seconds, I'm chucking it out the bin."

"Put it on my tab then, Canton," said Chin Boy, grinning proudly.

"_Oi!_ No, you're not," she retorted as she pushed him away. "Hold on. You've got a tab?" Clara turned to the barista and pointed at him. "He's got a tab? How can he get a tab? You can get a tab in a coffee shop? Can I get a tab?"

Without her seeing it, Chin Boy gave Canton a face and a wink and Canton just punched in the numbers.

"Yeah, sure. You do now."

Clara raised a smirk to Chin Boy and held her head up proudly. "Thanks. I'll pay it back next week."

Canton simply rolled his eyes, printed out the receipt, and handed it to her. He looked at Chin Boy and raised his eyebrows. "And you, sir?"

"No, nothing for me, thanks. I'm all sorted."

"You just said you were famished," she replied, picking up her tray.

"I lied."

He grinned down at her and she just noticed the colour of his eyes. Green. Oh, this was too good. Dark brown hair and green eyes? She could appreciate this. The bow tie, the braces, and the chin? She could get used to that, she thought. Not that she was thinking of anything further from the conversation. No. Obviously not. She just noticed as she eyed him from head to toe.

"Sit with me?" he asked. The cheek of him, honestly. She would have slapped him if her hands weren't full.

"Why should I?"

"Curiosity?" he shrugged. He still had on that smug little smile of his, like he knew she was going to say yes. She raised an eyebrow at him and hated him for being right. So she lightly pushed the tray to him.

"Alright then. But you can carry that."

X X X

She sat on his chair, the feisty little minx.

He handled the tray with care and as he set her drink and soufflé down, he supposed he must have looked like a waiter of some sort. He'd never been a waiter before. He thought he might try that some day. It might even be fun.

Soufflé Girl had her arms crossed and was still trying to read him. She had a cute little retroussé nose and dimples on her cheeks, he could tell. He'd never really seen her this close before. It was new. And he loved new things.

He went back to the cash register and just as Canton was about to sign off, he gave him the empty tray. Canton rolled his eyes, took the tray, and sulked off to the sink. He was going to make it up to his favourite sassy barista some day, he promised himself. But for now, he walked back to his table, where Soufflé Girl was still sitting.

He sat down on the chair opposite her and smiled. Her lips were pouting.

"So," she started. "What's your name then?"

Oh, this was his favourite part. "Doctor."

"Doctor?" Soufflé Girl looked confused for a moment but then she tucked in her lips as if she was trying to hold in a laugh. "Doctor who?"

He grinned and chuckled a bit. "Exactly."

"I'm sorry – what?" She was smiling.

"That's my name."

"'_Doctor Who_' is your name?"

"Yep."

"First name: Doctor. Last name: Who?"

"Eeeyep," he said, ruffling his hair a bit. It fell back the same way as if he had never touched it at all.

"Now if you're taking the mick out of me, I can just leave."

"No, really. That's my name. Doctor Peter Smith-Hu, if you'd like." He was still smiling. He hasn't done this in ages and seeing the look on her face made it all the more rewarding.

"Explain," she said, obviously amused. "Doctor," she added as she took a sip of her drink.

"My father is half Irish and Canadian, and half-Filipino and Chinese. His name's Junjie Hu but his English name is Sydney. He moved and lived in Cardiff when he was ten. My mum is partly Egyptian, Spanish, Russian, and Estonian but for the most part, she's English. Her name's Verity Smith. Both of them grew up with the show and started with the fifth one – Peter Davison. They met, fell in love, got married – it was basically meant to be."

"You don't look very…" Soufflé Girl started. "Worldly."

Doctor's smile faltered a little but he still replied. "Mum and Dad then found out they couldn't have kids. So they adopted the best little baby in the nursery and there you go."

"Oh. Sorry." She looked abashed and sipped some more of her drink. Doctor took his drink and sipped a little of it as well. "Well… my name's Clara? Just Clara, though. Oswald. Clara Oswald."

"That's a brilliant name," he said, perking up again. "Clara. You should definitely keep it."

"Maybe I will."

Somewhere, he knew, Amy would be smiling for him.

X X X

Two things. One, Doctor could _talk_. Two, she was liking this. It was different – this flirting. She hadn't done so in ages and with this man, it was kind of fun. Still, though.

"So. With a heritage like yours, d'you travel a lot, then?" This was good. Find common ground was a good step, right?

"Fairly enough, I suppose," he answered, taking a bite of a jammie dodger from his plate. "How about you? All those travel magazines of yours – it's either you have and you miss it or you haven't and you want to."

"So you've been looking?"

"So have you."

Stalemate, then. He was good. They both drank their drinks simultaneously again. Their eyes were locked to each other's and each had their own knowing smile on their lips. Clara poked at her soufflé.

"Yeah, I do want to travel," she admitted. "Some day. I graduate from university soon so I might just do that. Maybe see something other than the Lake District or Hyde Park. How about you? You still studying?"

"I'm always studying."

"Really? What're you majoring in, then?"

"Art History," he said simply.

"Didn't really peg you for the type."

"I took up Mechanical Engineering, finished when I was thirteen. Double majored in Biology and Chemistry right after that, finished that when I was seventeen. Fancied Aeronautics so I finished that when I was twenty. Then I figured I'd get into Medicine, finished at twenty-two, but I never took the exams because come on. Dr. Doctor Hu would just sound silly. And right now, I'm twenty-five, finishing up Art History. Figured I didn't have an art degree yet and I'd like to be well rounded."

Clara made a face at him and raised both her eyebrows. Her lips were stuck to the straw of her drink but she wasn't drinking anything. She was just looking at him with wide, confused (but amused) bright brown eyes.

"Did I forget to mention the genius thing?" His question was genuine. Sometimes, he thought so quickly that he often forgot if whether or not his sentence had made it into his speech.

"Is that supposed to be impressive?"

"Usually, yeah."

"You're joking."

"I'm not, I promise!" he said. He crisscrossed at both sides of his chest. "Cross my hearts." Clara almost spit out her drink as she laughed at him. "I take it you watch the show?"

"I used to. When it was still on, yeah. My mum used to have Dalek bubble bath."

"They ended it well with Tennant, though. Ten was absolutely brilliant." Doctor tried to get another jammie dodger from the plate but when he reached down, it was empty. He didn't even know he was eating them. He frowned a bit, realising he had just eaten Amelia's jammie dodgers, but then Clara pushed her soufflé toward him.

"You could share mine, if you'd like."

Doctor beamed and took a spoonful of it into his mouth. Oh, bliss. He should have soufflés more often. "You're welcome," he said.

"It's my soufflé, Doctor. _You're_ welcome," she asserted.

"Right. Of course," he said, nodding seriously before taking in another spoonful. "Totally right."

A pregnant pause came between them as Clara's eyes narrowed. And when she got it, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"They don't have tabs here, do they?"

"No."

"You paid for my food, didn't you?"

Doctor raised a finger to the air, his lips puckering while he tried to answer. "Well, technically, no."

"Realistically?"

"I own the place," he replied. And at least he had the nerve to look somewhat bashful.

"You _own_ this shop?"

He only smiled and sipped his tea. Clara rolled her eyes, sat back, and smiled as she shook her head. "I'm paying you back," she said, pointing her finger at him.

"There's no need!" he said, almost dribbling his tea on his shirt.

"I am paying you back, Doctor." It wasn't a question and for such a little thing, Clara was quite gutsy and he said nothing. He only finished his tea and shrugged his shoulders, as if in defeat.

"You can pay me back. Not going to say I'll take the payment but you can pay me back." Clara was about to retort again but he cut her off. "So. What about you – almost graduating university, then? What are you taking?"

Clara looked him up and down again, crossing her arms. He practically finished off her soufflé. She was glaring at him and he shouldn't think it was endearing – but it was.

"Masters. Early Childhood Education. This is my only break on the weekdays, actually. I've got to play nanny to a friend's kids every other weekday. Nearest little coffee shop around and I've got to be in class by-"

Clara looked to her watch and her eyes widened. She sipped the rest of her drink and gulped it down in a heartbeat. "Sorry. Got to go. Class and things."

"Oh. Really?" he said, his expression dropping just a bit, like a slightly kicked puppy. "Okay then," he continued, getting up too. She was putting her satchel around her when he said, "See you next Wednesday?"

She looked up at him and beamed. He looked somewhat embarrassed by his request, as if just realising that he had just confirmed that he knew she came by that little coffee shop at that time, all the time. Well, not all the time. Just every Wednesday. "Down, boy. There's such a thing as too keen," she replied.

She took a few steps and was at his side. She looked up at him and he looked down at her. Her playful eyes soon reached her lips as she smiled one more time. "See you next Wednesday."

Doctor smiled a big gapped smile as he watched Clara go.

Until Wednesday, then.

X X X

**A/N:** Slice of life set in a country that isn't mine is very difficult.

I set up this coffee shop from the design of my favourite local Starbucks branch. The blend that Clara orders is my personal **Whoufflé frappuchino** – it has all the fruity sweetness of a jammie dodger and then the nuts and the mocha kick in that soufflé spirit and it is refulgent and lovely. Yes, we have a Whoufflé frappuchino. We also have a Whoufflé tea by Ronnie of geekalogian on Tumblr.

This is, technically, a Baked Soufflé for whoufflelibrary because The Librarian is the actual sweetest ever and I just wanted to dedicate this fic to you. You gave me the prompt, technically. Even if it wasn't a Soufflé Sunday prompt. I hope you liked it!

And to all of you lovely people who made it to the end – thank you! It's very hard to write AU fics, I now understand, of The Doctor and Clara but I hope I made him eccentric enough to make sense. In this headcanon, Doctor Who ran on until Series 4 and ended with the Tenth Doctor dying and not regenerating somehow on The End of Time Part 2. So yeah. The show is real in this show and let's not joke. We know we're going to be Verity and Sydney when we grow up – actual geek parents.

Reviews would absolutely make my Sunday, especially since this is the first Whoufflé-less week in this six month hiatus. I'll be writing tons of fanfiction in that time, to maintain some semblance of sanity. Reviews – especially long ones that are constructive and/or filled with feelings – are my favourite and encourage me to write more things. I'm giving you a face right now. Leave a review. Do it. No takesy backsies.

Wow, my author notes just get longer, don't they? I think I've rambled long enough. Thank you so much for reading this, you lovely people! I hope you have an absolutely fantastic day!

xx, Jonnah.


	2. Chapter 2

The next Wednesday, he wore a waistcoat.

To say that she hadn't looked forward to that next Wednesday would be a lie. She had thought about him constantly throughout the week that had passed. She even looked him up on the Internet despite her almost magical inability to use the computer.

His alibi had all cleared out – Doctor Peter Smith-Hu was a legitimate genius. His father was also a doctor, apparently. A Doctor of Applied Physics and Medicine, that is. His mother, Verity Smith-Hu, was a businesswoman of some sort who was worth millions. All she knew was that this Doctor – her Doctor – had his own Wikipedia page and to her, that was impressive.

Not that she was going to tell him that.

She was also not going to tell him that she had flicked through for photos of him and saw that being a genius meant photo calls. And photo calls included well-lit photos that had him in all the right angles – bowties and all. Clara found that it almost felt wrong when she saw a rare photo of him without his bowtie. He even had an article written about him and for some reason, he was feeding a pig and reading Animal Farm.

Not to say that Clara Oswald practically cyber-stalked him – no, no, no, no. She was just pulling in the local resources. And besides, everyone did it these days. Right?

It had been years since she had been properly excited about something – about the possibility of a new adventure, of something different. Sweet little Clara – works as a nanny with ideas above her station but still stayed firmly rooted to the ground. When her mum died, it took a while for that desire to see the point in places to return. She had been drifting for so long – just dancing along to where the wind took her without looking.

The prospect of finally graduating from university again had just been settling in on her. What was she going to do afterward? Yes, she had friends to go back on and a dad who still needed her, but when she lay awake in bed at night – she still dreamt of the stars – a place to run and be free, without having to run away.

And for the first time in the time she thought she had forgotten how to dream, she found somewhere to run to – and he came from the corner of her eye, wrapped up in a bowtie and all.

When she walked up to him, he set down the copy of Beano he was reading and beamed up at her. In front of her were his usual two plates of two jammie dodgers and tea – but there was something new as there was also her frappuchino order and a mini soufflé already at the ready.

X X X

The next Wednesday, she wore a bright red sundress.

He would say that he hadn't looked forward to that Wednesday again. He would say that he hadn't skipped his classes at all and besides, he was already working on a restoration of an old Van Gogh as his final thesis project. He would say that he had been working on that restoration all week instead of phoning Amy and telling her all about Soufflé Girl.

Of course, he had gotten an earful from his beloved Amelia Pond – a good hour or two of her just calling him an idiot in a much more colourful way, even going into her Gaelic as she was wont to do when she was on fire. And Amelia Pond was always on fire. He would say that his best friend and her boyfriend hadn't mercilessly teased him for having his first real infatuation since River Song.

He would say that Rory had a go at him as well – vengeance, may it be so for all the years of teasing him about Amy – but with Rory, it was a different sort of help altogether. He was a calmer presence, the cool compress that helped counteract Amy's burn. And Rory knew what it was like – to like a girl from a distance, a girl he'd thought he'd never get to know, and then he won her over. But then again, Rory had always been one of the best men he'd ever known. He would be the type of person who would probably wait for Amelia Pond outside a box for thousands of years if he had to - just to keep her safe, should the situation present itself.

His friends always brought out the best in him and right then, that's what he needed to be.

He would say that a sigh of relief did not come from him when she came in through those double glass doors. He would say that he wasn't controlling his expression with every ounce of self-control that he had to not look too pleased at her appearance. He would say that he was just reading the Beano and he hadn't even noticed her come in. He would say all of those things.

But rule number one was that he lied.

When she sat on the chair opposite him, she had her arms crossed and that wasn't the only thing about her that was cross.

"Missed me, did you?" She was smirking, the nerve of her.

"Who said I missed you?" He was hoping that he wasn't blushing. He was a genius, some would even say he was a madman, but even he didn't know how to control his blood flow. That was involuntary human movement at its finest. Of all the things he greatly disliked about himself it was his blushing.

Clara gestured at the food in front of her. "I think you just did."

"You're the one who sat down and assumed it was yours," he retorted.

"Yes, well," she started. "You blushed."

Damn it. Damn her. Damn the human circulatory system. All the same, he grinned anyway and shook his head. "Shut up," he said as his way of admitting defeat. She actually giggled and took a sip of the frappuchino he had prepared for her. Clara sipped and her eyebrows got all scrunched up like she was concentrating on a maths problem – or trying to figure out the little additional ingredients he put in.

Which he did.

"Hang on." Clara was still trying to get a feel of the flavours. He only ate another jammie dodger and sipped his tea, watching her try to figure it out. "You put something in this."

"Ey?" He straightened up. Did she have an allergy? Did she not like it? "Don't like it, then?"

"I _like_ it," she said slowly, enunciating "like" as if it were a question, sipping carefully still. "But there's something new and I can't-"

"Ah yes! Well…" he said, rubbing his hands together and gesturing as he spoke. "I added a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg in there to balance out the raspberry."

Clara nodded and made a face that made him that she appreciated the gesture. He hoped she did. He made Canton make about ten or fifteen different concoctions of that just to come up with an altogether different kind of sweetness. At this rate, he would have to get Canton and his boyfriend a house or something. He probably would, eventually.

"And what have been up to?" she asked.

"Up and about, you know. The usual," he replied.

"And does _The Doctor_ do, usually?"

"Oh you know – planets to save, civilizations to rescue, creatures to defeat…"

"And an awful lot of running to do?" she concluded for him. She was looking at him while holding her drink, biting the straw as she spoke. He pointed a finger at her and tried to fight off a grin. Their eyes met for a long moment, neither of them moving as if challenging the other to move first. In a few seconds, the couple erupted in laughter.

"Does this work for you?"

"Does what work?"

"This. You just crook your finger at people, buy 'em a drink or two, and you win them over?"

"Well it works for you and I suppose that's all that matters," he responded automatically. Before he even registered what he said, his eyes widened and he had to take a big gulp of tea.

And he was certain he was blushing again.

X X X

That Wednesday was the start of many Wednesdays to come.

They never exchanged numbers or anything. They just knew that the other would be there at the coffee shop and at that corner, every single Wednesday. And he always bought her lunch, never wavering. Her drink was never the same though – there was always something different, though he used her base for familiar ground. Sometimes, there was toffee nut in the mix. Sometimes, there would be a tinge of peppermint in the aftertaste. But the soufflés and the jammie dodgers were always constant – as was he.

They talked and laughed and inadvertently flirted with each other. She had made snipes that one day, he might be too keen that he would bring a snog box or something. To which he did not reply and only sipped his tea.

There was a conversation where he asked about her parents and there was the somewhat awkward silence that followed when she had to talk about how her mum died. Lung cancer, it was. The ironic thing being that Ellie Ravenwood-Oswald didn't smoke. He matched that conversation when the topic of exes came about he had to talk about the only one he had ever had and how River Song had died of an accidental explosion at the chemical lab of her university.

But then there were good Wednesdays when she would tell him of that one time she got lost in Blackpool and how her mum found her. There was the time he told Clara about that one football game with Rory and Craig and he found that he was rather good at football without really knowing how the game worked.

He told her of Amelia Pond, Rory Williams, and their mad little love story from Leadworth to New York City. She told him of Angie and Artie Maitland – two mad, brilliant, mourning children whom she cared for and that one time they managed to trick her into playing Blind Man's Bluff just to go to the cinema.

One time, he taught her how to tie a bowtie. One time, she brought the book her mum gave her when she was eight-years-old – 101 places to see. She told him about the leaf and the dreams that came from little things. He told her of the scar on his head and the fears he had that came from big things.

Soon enough, Clara was every song on the radio, every leaf in the wind. Soon enough, Doctor was the sky that held every star that ever was.

X X X

The 23rd of November was a Wednesday.

Clara stayed at home with her dad at Lancashire that week. Mr Maitland gave her the week off, given that it was her birthday. Not that she ever really did anything on her birthday, really. But she was to come over that Saturday for a late birthday lunch with the kids. Artie demanded it, said he wanted to give her a present. Bless him.

When her mum was still alive, her mum would make her a perfect strawberry soufflé for breakfast and they'd just go to Pleasure Beach and have a nice family day out. Maybe she would even go out with her friends to a pub when night came. But Clara Oswald's birthday was never much of a celebration.

So that is why it was to her surprise that when she got out of her house at eight in the morning to see a Porsche 911 Carrera, painted in the bluest of blues, parked right outside her doorstep.

"Hello," said Doctor Peter Smith-Hu, leaning on the side of his car. Though he wasn't quite sure on how to lean on it as he kept adjusting his angle and position, trying to look cool by the side of his car. He tried resting his elbow on the hood of the car and even a hand on his hip. He tried resting him bum on the side but he kept slipping off. Finally, he just decided to stand up, rubbing his hands together as he usually did, and smiled hopefully. "Happy birthday, Clara."

"Hello?" she replied, puzzled. She didn't even know he knew it was her birthday – let alone where she lived. Had she mentioned it in passing? She could not remember. "What're you doing?"

"Kidnapping you!" he said brightly. "You've got the whole of today and maybe a bit of tomorrow and a couple of new places to see, so what do you say?"

He stood close to her now but for the life of him, he could not stop fidgeting. Even the perpetually carved wave of teak on his head seemed to have a life of its own as it bend and danced with the soft late autumn wind. He was rubbing his palms together, smiling like he knew she was going to say yes. And she wanted to – God, she wanted to. It was tempting and so unlike her. She had classes that day, she had so much to do. She still had to phone Nina about that paper and presentation due the next week. What would she tell her dad, even?

"You're mad," she said, her eyes wide and shining, her mouth twitching from trying to keep back a smile and a laugh.

"Your point is?" He was right in front of her then and even though he was a step below her, he could still look down at her. And honestly, it wasn't the fact that he was there, urging her to run away with him for a day, that she found difficult to leave. It was the fact that he was there – right in front of her – and there wasn't a table between them.

She could feel the thrashing beat of her heart in her chest and she was losing the fight against her face to smile. What was she supposed to say to something like this? It didn't happen in real life, it just didn't. It was something you read about, something you saw on the telly, something you'd hear happen to other people and dream could happen to you – but she never expected to be the girl things happened to. She was Clara – just Clara Oswald. What was so special about her?

He flexed his arm swiftly, to push his sleeves back, and took a look at his wristwatch. "If we leave now, we could make it to Paris by lunch."

"Paris?" she blurted out, her hand now covering her mouth to hide her grin. "You seriously want me to skip all my classes for the day, jump in your snog mobile, and run away?"

"Just for a day. Maybe two," he shrugged. "And it is not a snog mobile!"

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Starting when?" he hadn't realised he said that out loud as he had turned his head to look at his car then. When he recounted his reply, he blushed again and almost shyly looked back at her. Her arms were crossed now and she was smirking, that same questioning eyebrow that rose whenever she was being saucy. And she was always saucy.

It was then that the door opened from behind Clara and her father peeped through the door. "Clara, I heard you talking to someone outside. If it's the bloody tax man again, he's havin' none o' my-"

"Oh, hello!" said Doctor, walking past Clara and giving her father air kisses on both cheeks, while she only had a finger raised in the air while her mouth hung open. "I'm the Doctor, I'm your daughter's gentleman friend, and I'd like to take her out for her birthday!"

He clapped both his hands once and grinned at Mr Oswald. Mr Oswald only looked at the young man in front of him, eyed him from eye to toe, and looked to his daughter. Clara only tucked in her lips and shrugged, trying not to laugh again. Mr Oswald practically glared at Doctor for a long two seconds before he spoke again.

"You don't work for the government do you?"

Doctor's head tilted back and he pointed to himself. "Me? No, sir!" He gave a salute. "I'm more of a sovereign state in myself, really."

Mr Oswald gave him a nod and looked to his daughter. Clara simply nodded and he looked back to this odd young man who was fidgeting from side to side, his hands in his pockets. "You bring her home nice and safe or so help me, I'll-"

"Dad. S'okay. I'll phone you, alright?" Clara grabbed Doctor's arm away and dragged him to the car. He went willingly, albeit he flailed quite a bit on the way there. Mr Oswald only had his arms crossed as the car drove off. Eventually, he smiled.

X X X

Clara sat silently for a few minutes, clutching to the seatbelt. Her mouth had been open for the duration of the ride and he found himself stealing glances at her as he drove through the streets.

It was late autumn and the trees were practically stripped bare of the leaves. It was cloudy – then again, it was always cloudy – but there was a trace of Sun somewhere in the distance and it was enough hope that maybe there would be something to see somewhere along the line.

He had planned for this day for about a week, ever since he found out it was going to be her birthday on that particular Wednesday. She never realised her saying it when she said that it was her birthday when such and such was on the news, her having had cancelled her plans with her mum because of it. It only took a bit of digging to find out when it was and what to do next had been glaringly obvious from then on end.

"Ey?" he said, his eyes on the road. He was zigzagging and rushing about the roads, making twists and turns that Clara was unfamiliar with. "Are you okay?"

"You said Paris," were the first words she spoke since she got in the car.

"Yeah, and?"

"This isn't the way to Dover."

"Oi, trust the TARDIS. She always takes me where I need to go," he said, beeping the horn twice. The sound it made was the same sound of the TARDIS materializing.

"The TARDIS?" Clara had that cheeky smile on her again and he laughed.

"This Automobile Rarely Disappoints In Situations," he concluded. Clara laughed and he laughed with her. "That's horrible," she said. "What situations?"

"Oh you, know. _Things_," he said, gesticulating with both hands quickly before he clutched onto the wheel again.

"You just really wanted to name your car TARDIS." She gave him a look that he had learned to know well enough – that look that said she was proud to know him and how he thought.

"As I said, my parents were nutters. It's logically impossible for me to have ended up any other way," he replied, grinning.

"Why're you doing all this?" she finally asked. "Why me?"

"I never know why," he said, opening the glove compartment in front of her. Inside was a vintage film camera, a purple bowtie on top of it. There was a small card attached to it that had her name on it. "I only know who."

"What's this?" she asked, holding the camera in her hand delicately, as if it were made of glass. It was a beautiful piece of machinery – it shone of old silver and black. The controls were like the ones she'd only seen in shops – the wind-up, the trigger, and the old, rustic lens. It was the type of camera that really oughtn't be working anymore but when she pointed it at him and took a photo, it took a shot.

"It's me," he answered. "Giving in."

X X X

**A/N:** I felt like Paris should have its own chapter so I chose to end this here.

And I'm so sorry for that last one, I think I got you all thinking that I was going to leave it there. O'course, I'm not! I've got this going for at least another two chapters, I think. And the next one is probably going to be one of the hardest things I'll ever write.

Writing about alien planets I have to make up? That's fine. Writing about cities I've never been to? That's another adventure all the same. Which is why I'd like to thank the lovely people on Tumblr who have been helping me with the details. They'll be credited in the next chapter, where all their detail really kicks in.

If you got all the Matt and Jenna references up there and from here on out, you win a jammie dodger. Thank you so much, again, for your lovely reviews and support and whatnot! This ship and writing about them makes me incredibly happy. Especially right now that real life is sucking a great deal. It's nice to have a hobby to fall back on.

The next one should be up in a couple of days. Ready for Whoufflé in Paris? (Reviews that are long and filled with feelings and constructive criticism make me want to write more and at a quicker pace! … Wink. I'm giving you a face. Do it.)

Anyway, I hope you're enjoying this AU! Not exactly my cup of tea but I'm enjoying myself immensely. (That rhymed.)

xx, Jonnah.


	3. Chapter 3

Doctor took a very sharp stop after around ten minutes of driving.

He hit himself on the forehead and started berating himself, yelling on how he was slow – so very slow. Clara was already clutching her seatbelt before his outburst and she only held on tighter as she tried to make sense of what possibly could have happened for him to react like he did.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" she asked. She was gentle when she spoke in that same calm demeanour her mother took when she was a child. She even put a hand on his arm, his remarkably tense arm. Did he change his mind? Was something else more important for the day that he would have to just drop her off at university and he'd see her later that afternoon?

To say she wouldn't mind would be a lie – she'd been dreaming of Paris for her birthday for all of thirteen minutes, since he'd picked her up from her front porch. Anyone given hope and then have it taken away would make anyone dangerous. God knew what it would do to her.

"I think I may have made a bit of a tactical boo-boo," he confessed, looking bashful as he turned his head to look at her. And that look on his face worried her. Sure, it probably wasn't his fault to lead her on and let her down on fantasies of running away to Paris for a day. Still – hope was a terrible thing to lose, especially after just so briefly getting a taste of it. "More of a semantics mix-up, really."

"What boo-boo?" she asked, holding her breath before he answered what could possibly make her never want to go back to that café ever again.

"I'm about to get our schedules very, very wrong." She gulped at that, and tilted her head, urging him to go on. "We're going to have to go back to your house and oh, blimey, that's going take out at least half an hour from the day and-"

"Doctor?" she said, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

"I forgot to get you your passport. We're going to have to go back-"

Before he even turned the wheel to make a U-turn, Clara giggled once. She tried to stop herself from giggling again but it broke free again. All until she could not contain herself and she kept laughing and laughing until it looked like it hurt. Even he, with all his concern, started to smile. "Ey?"

Clara dug into her satchel and pulled out her passport from inside. "Dad's always been a nutter about the government, always convinced there's going to be a coup one of these days against the Queen and we'd have to fly as fast as we can to the Canary Islands or something," she said – all while giggling in between her words. She reached into her satchel and showed him her passport. "Never leave home without it."

Doctor pointed a finger and smiled a big gappy smile at her. "Well then, Clara Oswald," he said as he snapped both his fingers then clutched the steering wheel. The spark in his eyes was back and it was contagious – she could feel the heat from them run through her fingertips, rushing through her like millions and billions of supernovas happening all at once. It was a feeling that could only be described in one word – in a word that was so quaint, so brilliant, and so very, very him.

"_Geronimo._"

X X X

It took them a little more than two hours to get to Dover.

That baffled her, as it would usually have taken her dad at least four hours to get to Dover, maybe five if the traffic was bad and he'd need a bit of a break to go the loo. But with the Doctor, he'd known every stop sign and every roadblock – he got to traffic lights just a second before the light turned red.

It was around ten in the morning when they got to the Eurostar and it should only take them around half an hour to get to Calais.

She hadn't even noticed when they reached the station. They were too busy bickering and laughing over the radio and what song should be playing. He had teased her on how she should be embarrassed about her "really bad taste in music". She had hid her face with her hands then, laughing and hitting at his arm while he drove like a maniac. But the TARDIS drove like a dream and she barely felt it stop. She even chastised him for that for wasn't the TARDIS supposed to be rocking about and shaking; and to that he straightened his bowtie with one had and said: "The stabilisers are on."

And she would have gone on to tease him some more about his car when Bohemian Rhapsody started playing and he started singing along with it – screaming "Galileo!" and all, leaving the both of them to a fit of laughter when the song ended.

The whole ride had felt so normal – just a normal drive by with one of her mates to the city or something. She was half expecting that they were going to stop somewhere for fish and chips and then get back to class.

He had had everything cleared out – even the train cart that would take the TARDIS on the train and on to France. She had never stayed quiet with him for such an extended period that he had to notice at one point or another. It was when they were already under the channel, buzzing by while the electric lights looked like a million shooting stars coming down all at once while she felt as though a million and one dreams were coming true as every second passed.

"Look at you, ey?" he said, breaking her from her trance as she watched the lights go by. "Look as if you've never been under the channel before."

"I haven't," she confessed. Even in the dim light of that train car, she could see that he was surprised. Why shouldn't he? People cross the channel all the time – it wasn't that big of a deal. And for a girl who talked about traveling and adventures all the time, it would be surprising that she'd never been anywhere outside the United Kingdom.

"Why not?"

"Never got around to it," she started. "Mum always went on about backpacking through Europe after I finished my GCSEs. We planned it. I would take a year off school and we'd just go mad and travel for a bit. But then my mum, she… When my mum got sick- I was thirteen and we barely left Lancashire. We used all the money we had on her medicine until she- until I was sixteen. Closest I've ever been to a proper holiday was when I worked for my granddad's stall at the Blackpool promenade. I'd be one of those people who'd just get snubbed – trying to get you to play his daft old game of tossing rings on glass bottles. Dad promised we'd go on a proper holiday after my A-levels but we never did that either."

It was something she could always have done but never did. There was always something to do, someone else to stay for. There would be a paper that would need a bit of extra research. Artie would need someone to watch him in the afternoon since Angie would be having a day off. Her mates had tried getting her on a weekend off to Venice but she'd said no because Angie needed help with a bake sale. Even her dad didn't understand why she had said no all those times. Truth be told, neither did she.

It just felt too much like a promise was getting broken – like she'd finally left her mum behind if she was to go to places she'd never been to before, without her mum holding her hand. And if she would ever get lost – who would ever look for her again?

"Always talked about it. Always dreamt of it but-"

She stopped talking when she felt his hand take hers. She looked at his hand in hers and she intertwined their fingers together. Her gaze travelled slowly to his face, to see that his green eyes were shining. He had a tight smile on his face and she returned it with a grin of her own.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're very welcome."

X X X

In half an hour, they made it to Calais. After a little more than two hours, they were in Paris.

It was already one in the afternoon when they made it there and Clara had fallen asleep somewhere along the first hour of the journey. But she'd fallen asleep still holding his hand while in that tunnel, as they never let go from that first time. He'd had to let go to actually drive.

She fell asleep on him – literally on his arm – and it was the first thing he woke up to, seeing her there next to him. She had her new camera at hand and he thought that maybe she took another photo of him while he had been sleeping. If he had been sleeping – he didn't even realise he had fallen asleep. But in a tunnel with barely any light – he didn't know how that photo was going to end up. Still, the photo of her sleeping next to him was a painting no light could ever dissolve back into a negative.

When they arrived in Paris at one in the afternoon, he barely found the strength to wake her. But they only had so much daylight to waste and so much of this city for her to see.

"Hey," he whispered, tugging on her arm, trying to wake her. "Hey, stranger." He held her hand, intertwined his fingers with hers. "We're here."

Her eyes were drowsy, fluttering open. The afternoon sunlight made her brown eyes look like amber – if Heaven were real then her eyes were the colour of early sunrise on God's own paradise. It took her a moment to remember where she was – where he had taken her and why she had woken up next to him in the first place. And he would have her sleep next to him everyday for the rest of his natural life if it meant waking up to those sunrise coloured eyes.

X X X

The postcards didn't lie.

She had seen postcards from London and how everything looked when the photos were post-processed to perfection. Unless you actually lived there, almost nothing looked like the photos. It was just a country and everything was grey – sometimes, even the complexion of the people matched the concrete.

But everything about Paris and waking up in Paris was beyond any novel could write about, any tourist could describe, and any photo could capture. Clara laughed in small gasps as she looked outside. She didn't even notice that he had let go of her hand and gotten out of the car to open her side of the door. He offered her his hand and she took it with one, her other hand holding on to her new camera for dear life.

One step out the TARDIS and it was a different ground on her feet, different wind on her face. French ground, French wind. And she couldn't stop grinning, couldn't stop smiling.

Doctor closed the door and locked it with a click of his key. He grabbed her hand and they ran across the streets of Paris. She attached Paris to the end of every sentence. The tourists in Paris, the people living in Paris, the laundry they did in Paris, the traffic and parking in Paris, the people talking in Paris – it was all so very… _Paris_.

The cobblestone streets were dusky and dirty but it was dusky and dirty in Paris. The buildings and shops were worn and brown and felt _warm_. It was different kind of busy there than it was in London or anywhere that she had ever been. Colours abounded everywhere – it was a conglomeration of emotions. And for once in her life, she wasn't afraid of getting lost. She wanted to get lost in this city – lose herself completely to risk, to adventure, to the kind of life she's always dreamed of. And Clara Oswald was terrified but more eager than she thought she would be.

It was not was she dreamed of when she first woke up that morning but now that she was here, she did not know how she could have dreamt of anything else.

Clara ended up pulling his hand along the way and eventually, she let go and just stood on the spot. She spun, her head high, looking atop the highest ceilings, and never imagining how anyone could live here and get used to it. Doctor just looked at her from a distance, his hands in his pockets, grinning.

"Take it you like the place?" he asked. She stopped and her lips quirked to a smirk. She then ran up to him and hugged him. "Ey!" he had said before he knew what was happening. But when she embraced him, he held her right back. "Oh, okay! So we're doing hugging, I get that now!"

Clara couldn't stop laughing and even kissed him on the cheek when she finally let go of him. He jumped back in surprise after that – his expression mixing in between astonishment and utter bliss. And she smiled at him like he'd given her the world and all she had to do was smile at him like that and ask and he would give it to her.

"So," she started breathlessly. "What do we do first?"

"Eat!" he said, rubbing his hands together. "I don't know about you but I'm famished. And besides," he took her hand and led her. "I think it's about time you'd had a proper soufflé. And where's a better place than Paris? Ey?"

Clara could only nod and go along with him. Doctor took them to a café with an apartment on top. He had sworn they had the best soufflés in all of Paris – and, by extension – all the world. Well… at least all parts of the world he's ever seen and been in. They ordered tea and a proper soufflé in that café, Clara always looking at every customer that went in through the doors and watching the way they walked and moved and breathed and sat.

Clara could barely sit down on her seat, feeling as if she were ten again and all the pent up excitement of dreaming had led her to his café in this country she never really thought she could just simply go to. Doctor barely said a word and he just watched her practically bounce on her seat. He'd never seen her so bright and she was practically glowing. She was absolutely _refulgent_.

The soufflé came and after her first bite of it, she wanted to cry. The warmth that filled her reminded her of those Wednesdays she'd had with him and this Wednesday that he gave her. The flavour showed her memories of her mum – Ellie's hair all tied up and trying to teach her how to cook and how Clara would always try and lick the batter or the dough when she hadn't been looking. It took her to a time she knew before and a time she didn't even know she could have.

Clara could barely believe that the day hadn't ended yet and he just sat there, barely touching anything. He was just there, smiling at her with glistering green eyes – the kind of green the grass on the other side could only dream of being.

"What?" she asked, still savouring the Parisian soufflé she has having. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

"Looking at you like what?" They paused for a minute, just looking at each other, challenging the other to flinch first. Clara gave in and just took in another bite. "Nothing," she said, to which he replied with a smug smile of his own.

"So…" he started, after they finished the rather large soufflé. "Where do you want to go, ey? What do you want to see?"

Her pupils dilated again and he didn't think he could ever get used to that. If he had a choice, he never wanted to get used to it. She smiled and her mouth opened to answer but she could not get the words out, her thoughts were in disarray with the infinity of possibilities he was offering. "I dunno," she replied. Doctor made a face at that. "D'you know when somebody asks you what's your favourite book and straightaway you forget every book you've ever read?"

"No, totally not."

"Well it's a thing… that… happens."

"And? Back to the question," he prodded.

"Okay," she replied, drawing deep breaths, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to think and assemble the chaos in her head. "So… _so_… So! So… I'd like to see, I would like to see, what I would like to see is…" she murmured as she thought. Then her eyebrows raised and her grin returned. She looked him straightaway and her excitement was contagious. He held his breathe as he awaited her answer.

"Something awesome," she answered.

He snapped his fingers and pointed upwards. He left a few bills underneath the plate, gestured to the maître d' about his payment, and took Clara's hand. "Righty-o, then!" he said. "As a good man once said…"

"_Allons-y!_"

X X X

It was a day made of photographs.

It was a frame after frame after frame and Clara had felt dizzy by the end of it. She'd taken so many photos, wanting to capture and remember every little detail of what this was for her. It was all a blur, in retrospect, but she was walking in slow motion and she could remember every single bit of it. But she couldn't capture emotion on film – not really and she'd wanted to store these feelings in a bottle or keep this sunshine in her pocket and save it for a rainy day.

They had rented out white bicycles and rode along the streets. Doctor kept showing off tricks and stunts and it served him right to have fallen off once or twice or five times. But he always got back up with a smile on his face, claiming he had meant to do that for her entertainment.

There were the children at the base of the Eiffel Tower and they had been blowing bubbles and Doctor just had to dance around with them, arms raised up and waving left to right and he looked like some bizarre drunk giraffe. And of course, she joined in with him and played with those children.

At one point, the both of them got a little bit lost within the avenues and buildings that all started to look suspiciously familiar – or was it? There was too much life in Paris, too much of it to absorb that their senses started to mix up the difference between seeing, remembering, and dreaming. And the both of them were doing all those things, all at the same time. She didn't want to go inside, for the most part. She wanted to run around the streets and see everything there was to see – even the things that weren't normally noticed. She wanted to notice everything – she wanted to get to know every brick, every granule of concrete in this new city in this part of the world she'd never known before.

And Clara had never run so much in her entire life – never had she had so much air to breathe.

At the very end of the day – after all the food, the clothes, and all the running, he took her to the very top of the Eiffel Tower. The view was not what she was expecting for she'd been on heights before and a skyline was a skyline. But this was a city that was not her own and as she looked down from that height, all she could think about was that she had been there. She was on that street and she had stood there. And she had run.

She looked to her side then and saw that he was still looking at her. He was always doing that – no matter where they went, he wouldn't be looking anywhere else but at her. It would have been the best place – right there, on top of that tower, to kiss him. It would have been so easy – it would have been so good. She's wanted to all day. She's wanted to after the first month of knowing him.

But she didn't. And neither did he.

Instead, she looked up at him with bright shining eyes that threatened tears. She could not speak. She could not bring herself to move anything else but just look up into those eyes of his and she didn't know how to tell him she was grateful. When she looked up at him atop that tower, he remained speechless, waiting for her to say something but she never did. When a tear fell, he touched her face and brushed at her cheek with his thumb. She clutched that hand with hers and she wept.

She jumped up at him and held onto him so tightly that she feared she might no longer know how to let go. If she ever let go of him, she felt as if she might fall from grace and gravity. But she was already falling – a different kind of falling all the same. And they were falling together. Perhaps they had already fallen – but to say that they fell would be to say they were not willing. And they were more than willing - they jumped off that cliff together, holding hands all the way.

"We should probably go," he whispered to her. "Your dad's still waiting for that phone call, you know."

Clara jumped back and laughed. She wiped the tears on her face and nodded. He held her free hand as she called her dad, and she was still crying with a smile that could not leave her lips. When the phone call ended, she tugged at his hand and made him look down at her.

"I don't want to go," she told him. "Can we stay? Just for the night?" Doctor smiled and nodded once. He kissed the top of her head and led the way.

It took a while for them to get back to his car and he drove to the flat he owned in Paris. Of course he would have a flat in Paris – but it was barely furnished. He told her that he travelled a lot – so much and so often that his parents had gotten him units and flats in nearly every major city in every country in the world so he'd always know where to go home, wherever he was.

There was only one bed in the bedroom – a large circular bed that had TARDIS blue sheets with golden print pattern in Circular Gallifreyan. He offered to sleep in the sofa, fumbled and blushed as he said it. Clara smirked, raised an eyebrow, and coyly suggested that it was certainly big enough for two and she wouldn't take up too much room. Doctor swallowed at that, stuttered as he said his approval – or was it consent? – to sleep in the same bed as her. And he was decided on that – just sleep in the same bed as her and wake up next to the double sunrise that was her eyes.

When he dressed for bed – he was in a large shirt and a pair of shorts. He raised the blinds that allowed for his tinted glass windows to show the picturesque view that was Paris, France. He lay down on the bed and looked out that same window. But that view was nothing compared to the view of Clara Oswald in one of his shirts that was much too big for her with nothing but her pants underneath.

She used his arm as a pillow, unapologetically curling up next to him. He was fidgeting when she did but she only laughed and booped his nose with a finger. He calmed down some and used the same arm she was resting on to hold her closer. They were facing each other, neither of them talking for the longest time after the day they've had together.

"Did you have fun today?" he asked in a low whisper. Their faces were close to each other, him still looking down and her up at him, their noses almost touching.

"Really, Doctor?" she replied. "You really have to ask?"

Doctor chuckled at that and grinned when he saw the dimple on her cheek that he loved to see when she smiled.

"Why'd you run so much?" she asked, her hand grazing his chest slowly as she pulled herself closer to him. "You have everything. Why would you run?"

"I don't need everything, Clara," he answered, her name rolling off his tongue and his voice still low. "I've never needed every_thing_. But from the moment I was born, I've been left behind. My mum and dad have always been on business or working and the only time I would have with them is when the show was on. Then there was Amy and Rory and River. And then I only had the show and even that left me."

"I'm running until I can't run anymore because I don't know where to stop," he added. "I've always been lost. No one could find me."

"Well call me the girl who can," she replied.

"Yes you can, you _beauty_. I'm impossible to find but you did it. You found me because it's impossible and you're my impossible girl. And now I don't think I have to run anymore."

She closed the space between them with a kiss – their first kiss – and it was slow and worth waiting for. All the while, the lullaby of Paris sung them to sleep.

X X X

**A/N:** I have never been out of the Philippines so I beg for your forgiveness for every inaccuracy on this chapter. Everything I wrote about up there is from what I think Paris is like based on dreams, books, films, telly, photos, et cetera. I think I managed to calculate the times right but either way, time – from a non-linear, non-subjective view point is more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff. Forgive me?

I've already got the epilogue written up as I wrote that first before this and I'm going to apologise for it right now. I wrote it before I heard of Matt's impending departure and now I hate myself for the epilogue of this fic. Yes, I am completely devastated with Matt's goodbye as it feels like I lost a best friend but I'm excited for his future projects all the same and I'm excited to know a new Doctor, all while grieving for _**My Doctor**_. Eleven was _**my**_ Doctor and so I'm just really, really, really, really, agonizingly sad.

Anyway, I really hope this chapter wasn't too bad. I'm really bad with date fics because I've never been on a date so… I don't know these things. I live through fiction. Sigh. I know, I know. I hope you're all still enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! I love this AU and I'm sad to almost see it go but I've got to get as much Eleven/Clara out there as possible.

I'd like to thank thefandomobsessedgirl, sousouffle, spacegandalfr, candiceaccohla, dreamsofawordsmith, emptycoffins (hi esme!), runyoucleverboyandfreesyria, and nessy3599 for their help with this fic! Especially Esme and spacegandalfr who helped me in such detail that I can't thank them enough.

Reviews would be much appreciated and long ones that have a lot of feelings/constructive criticism are my favourites and encourage me to write more. Wow, my author's notes are getting progressively longer. Sheesh, Jonnah. Thank you for reading! Epilogue's coming right up next – maybe in a day or two.

xx, Jonnah.


	4. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

She only came around at half past 1 in the afternoon.

She only ever ordered two things and after five years of the same routine, never breaking whether there be tidal waves or hurricanes – she would never falter, she would never fail. Even when her once brown hair grew to grey and even now that her once young knees quivered with every step. Her back had curved and lines grew and stretched on her skin.

She only ever came around on Wednesdays for that was all her strength would allow her. Clara Oswald-Hu was not as strong as she used to be, even more so now that she knew she was only waiting on the wind and only shadows kept her company – the silhouette of an old, passed companion always lingered where he once always sat. And she could not bring herself to leave that old café – even when he had already left her.

Not that it was unhappy – those fifty-four years with him, running all the way and never, ever stopping. Her clever boy remembered her for all she was – just as it was all she could do now. For they had run together – and now she was the only one who remembered.

It had been three years since they last ran and Clara was tired – she found that even breathing was laborious work when all she did was sit and watch as she waited for the wind to take her back home to him. She had run with him from that first moment and they never stopped until they had to – until he did.

She missed him everyday and every Wednesday, Clara came back to this first place that she now owned. When you run with the Doctor, it feels like it will never end until the day they finally had to. Not that she wasn't grateful – for when he took that last breath in this run, he was holding her hand like he always did and she was the last face his face saw.

"Clara," he whispered – only seconds before his lights went out. "_My Clara._"

"_Geronimo,"_ she told him, clutching his hand even tighter when she felt him let go.

He was never scared or sad – he just looked at her with those same, old, shining green eyes that had seen so much and so little of the universe. He thanked her, he didn't want her to be alone, and just before he left her – he looked at her like she was his northern star, the moon that pushed and pulled the tide. He passed at home; he passed at her side, holding her hand, with eyes that loved her – actually properly loved her – until the green was covered by skin and she was left without his stars in her sky.

They had a good run together – to every patch of land their feet could take them. A year after Paris, he took her to see his other TARDIS. "This Aeroplane Really Does Its Stuff," he told her and she had laughed. And it was there that he had gotten down on one knee, pulled out a little blue box that held something so much bigger on the inside, and asked her to come away with him – as his, just as he was hers. The box held a ring that looked like a key made of the bluest of blue sapphires.

She said yes.

And run away they did – touched and grew with every culture, breathed every kind of air that there was. In time, they travelled each other – their fingertips drawing maps on each other, carving trails with goosebumps, and their blood would turn to liquid lightning in their veins until they were both made of starlight – combusting into supernovas.

They had seen the stars this Earth had to offer and they made stars of their own – the path they left behind created a blaze of starlight, making constellations out of the chaos that they landed in. And oh there were calmer days, there were brighter days, and there were days when the Sun didn't shine at all.

There was the wedding of Amelia Pond and Rory Williams – the crazy ginger one and the one with the funny bones – and they had danced until all sound and sanity left them behind. There was the day of her father's passing – when silent stars fell from her sky and wept when she couldn't and he had helped her hold her light in through it all. And there were days – oh, so many of them – which she struggled to remember now when all her memories were slowly turning to dust. All her fresh spring leaves had turned into autumn and winter was coming for her – the last of the leaves were starting to fall.

A year after the first run without him, she acquired the rights to the story that made him possible. It was impossible to do but she did it. Because she was and she will always be his impossible girl.

Now three years later, the following week would be the first time the beloved programme would return to the screen. Some bloke named Matt Smith was all up to play the iconic and beloved Doctor of their hearts. She hadn't done much except push to have it back on – fought for it, even if it would take her last dying breath – but the impossible girl had one more run to go before she would let herself pass silently through the black sky and find herself back to the second star to the right, back home in the stars with him.

She had only one demand – that this Doctor was to be a madman, a madman with a box who liked to wear bowties. For as Clara's late husband would have said: "bowties are cool" and bowties were never cooler.

The following week was the premiere of the new series – its first episode called "The Eleventh Hour". The bloke that had the honour and privilege to handle it because she couldn't, some Scotsman called "Steven Moffat", seemed to be able to handle it well enough – he seemed to be up for the challenge. So long as he was kind to this Doctor – so long as this Doctor, this saviour of worlds, would be given the kindness he so desperately deserves. Maybe even give him an impossible girl of his own.

A young man came up to her as she stared off and remembered.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the lad said. And Clara was tired – so very tired – and she almost forgot what it was she was doing in that quaint little café where her life had changed forever and she ran away with a strange madman who promised her the stars. But she smiled – a paradoxically sad and happy smile – and the lad put two plates of jammie dodgers and her afternoon tea in front of her.

That Wednesday – and for every Wednesday she had left to come – she would be the impossible girl who ran and saw the stars. And she would remember.

X X X

**A/N:** Relatively short epilogue, I know. Is it disappointing? Maybe. But there was no other way to end it. I started writing this story with every intention of bringing it here – this epilogue was the first thing I wrote for this story, actually. I just never realised that in between the start and finish of it would be Matt Smith's departure and so I'm sorry for that.

Feel free to yell at me if I made you sad.

I'd like to apologise for how long this took. I've been preoccupied with stuff and now, with my thesis at its most critical point, I'm afraid I'm only going to get busier. But I'm still writing Whouffle in my little notebook during my spare time. I'd also like to thank all of you lovely people who have messaged me and have shared with me how much you seem to have enjoyed this story.

You, my dear lovely readers, are worth every star and supernova and you are all a kindness I could never hope to ever deserve. Thank you for following this story and I hope I didn't disappoint you. I just thought that the adventures of Doctor and Clara Hu would be a story better left for her to remember.

Reviews, especially ones in detail and bring forth constructive criticism, are the actual best and make me very, very happy. Trust that this is not my last Whouffle story. In fact, I've been working on a little something set in the 1920s so… This is not the last of me.

I hope you all have a day that is as splendid as you are. And spare me a thought now a then. In fact…

_**Run. Run, you clever whoufflepuff. And remember.**_

xx, Jonnah.


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